If you’re using AI to write fanfiction, you have got to be illiterate. It’s no joke. “English isn’t my first language” is a different conversation.
Y’all be from America where adults are reading on a 6th grade level. If you can’t write fanfiction with the fingers and brain god gave you (because it actually is the bottom of the heap), then you damn sure can’t write a regular essay. God forbid a research paper, you don’t have the skills to comprehend. You can’t Conceptualize and categorize your own ideas without AI. That’s spooky.
You shouldn’t be writing fanfiction if you’re using AI. You need to go read a fucking book (not Colleen Hoover) on or above your grade level and learn to comprehend and let your own ideas grow. Go do some writing prompts.
“Holy shit, M-Mikey!” you screeched into the pillow, your moans muffled against the soft cushion. Robby's large hand snaked from your hip to the back of your head, gathering your hair at the root into his fist, and gripped it harshly. You whimpered out in surprise when he yanked at your scalp to lift your head off the pillow. His thrusts did not falter as you moaned out into the bedroom, the wanton sound echoing throughout his apartment.
“Mikey-” you gasped as he tugged harder on your hair until your arched back was pressed against his coarse, hairy chest. He wrapped his arm around your waist and moved his hand from your hair toward your neck. Grabbing it gently to hold rather than to squeeze. The possessive gesture makes you even wetter, and the squelching sounds between you get louder.
“The whole point of bringing you to my place," he grunted with his lips against your ear, "is so that you can be. Fucking. Loud." His thrusts were timed perfectly with his words.
“O-okay, I’m sor- Ow! Ow, fuck!!” You blubbered at a particular thrust that felt uncomfortably deep.
"Oh, Shit. Baby, are you okay?" Robby asked urgently before immediately pulling out, holding you more gently against his chest. Both the palms of his hands are now resting against your ribs, gripping you as delicately as possible to keep you from falling onto the mattress.
You panted heavily with your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath, waiting for the dull ache inside you to go away. Robby was getting desperate; your silence and lack of confirmation that you were okay were eating at him.
He gently grabbed your cheeks and forced you to turn your head back to face him behind your shoulder, needing eye contact to read you properly.
"Talk to me," Robby pleaded with a soothing tone, while his chocolate brown eyes bore into you. Anxious for an answer while trying not to stress you out, "Where does it hurt?"
"My-my-" you mewled softly as you made an effort to answer him properly. His encouraging nod helped you find the words you were looking for. "M-my cervix."
Robby tsked softly before leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your full cheek.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," He murmured, his salt and pepper beard scratching your skin as his lips brushed tenderly against your soft and sweaty skin. The gesture made your eyes flutter closed to enjoy the intimacy of the moment, making you feel closer to him than when he was inside you.
"Do you want to stop?" He cooed against your cheek, the immediate shake of your head to his suggestion made him chuckle softly.
"No, just s-slow down. Please?" Robby nodded before placing one more kiss on your cheek.
“Alright. I need to check your pretty pussy first, okay?” He cooed, not making a single move to position you until he got your consent.
You nodded gently, and he moved his grip down to your waist as he lowered you down carefully onto your stomach and flipped you over with ease. His strength always surprised you, given that his only workout consisted of being constantly on the go at the Pitt. Robby grabbed your knees and pushed them up until they were inches from your shoulders, pressing against your breasts.
“Hold it,” He ordered, his role as an attending physician bleeding into his dominance in the bedroom. Your brain began to go all fuzzy and slow to process his command. Robby sensed your hesitance and glanced up at you with an arched brow, making you quickly obey and place your hands behind your knee to hold your legs back for him.
“Good girl,” He growled lowly as he kept his gaze on your soaked folds.
As he continued his inspection, your cheeks began to flush in this position. It always made you feel a little shy despite the numerous occasions he’s fucked you in a mating press. Except now you were exposing yourself to him instead of being covered by his tall and burly build.
A startled gasp escaped your lips as you felt the pad of his thumb circle your bundle of nerves. It quickly snapped you out of your anxious thoughts. You noticed his eyes were trained on your folds with his brows furrowed in concentration.
“What-what are you do-” Robby interrupted you before you could finish your sentence.
“Need to lube you up before I check you properly,” He continued to stimulate your engorged clit with slow and controlled circles, not stopping until you were weeping. Despite this technically being a clinical check-in, you didn't even try to hold back the desperate mewling coming out of your parted lips. Robby was borderline teasing you, and it was driving you insane.
It wasn't until he glanced down and saw the wet spot forming under your ass from your arousal dripping down your folds and onto his sheets. He finally decided that you were wet enough, and he scooted closer on his knees before carefully working one thick finger into your folds. It was a tight fit, but he didn't stop until he circled the tip of his finger around for your cervical opening.
Robby grunted softly once he located your opening, feeling the small dent.
“How does that feel?” His cock twitched against his thigh at the soft feeling of your opening, a sign that you were ovulating.
“A-a little weird,” you strangled breathlessly as you clenched around his finger, feeling more turned on than before.
“Bad weird?” He inquired, trying his hardest not to pull his finger out and go back to fucking you until you were filled up.
“No-no, l-like awkward weird not painful w-weird,” you panted heavily as your thighs began to shake in your grip.
Robby nodded before pulling his finger out, watching your slit clench around nothing and your clit twitching for contact. He placed his palm on one of your knees and spread you further open, allowing you to release your hold one of the backs of your knees.
You watched as he fisted his cock at the base and pressed the tip of his circumcised shaft against your clit. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, your thighs shaking in his grip.
"You ready pretty girl?" Robby growled, his voice hoarse from the frantic need to be inside you again.
"Yes."
A broken moan escaped your parted lips as he pushed his length all the way in in one thrust.
"Fuck-" Robby groaned through clenched teeth.
"I'm not gonna last," He panted heavily, "touch your pretty little clit for me."
You nodded quickly before reaching down to circle your clit with your fingertips, watching him groan at the sight and the way your slit flutters around his cock. He quickened his pace with a groan while he kept his fist at the base of his cock. Despite the lustful monster in him taking over, he was not going to make the same mistake of almost bruising your cervix again.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cum for me, baby, please. Fuck, I'm so fucking close," Robby practically begged before leaning in to latch his lips around your nipple and suck on the soft nub until it hardened against his tongue.
"Daddy! Fuck me!" You whined as you came around his cock, your cum leaking onto his sheets, and adding to the puddle below your ass.
"That's it, baby," He groaned against your nipple before burying his face between your breasts.
"Where do you want it? Tell me now."
"Inside. Inside me, please," you pleaded as you wrapped your legs around his hips and hooked your feet to keep him inside.
"FUCK." Robby growled against your chest as he buried as much of himself as he could. His cock pulsated inside you as he kept moving his hips in shallow thrusts to fuck his cum further into you.
You gasped as he collapsed his full weight on top of you, his face buried into your chest, and he panted heavily. He reached forward to wrap one of his arms around you, making you arch your back to allow him to snake his arm under and hold you.
A comfortable silence settled in the room; the only sounds were you both finally catching your breath, mingled with the busy streets at midnight in Pittsburgh.
“You know we’ll have to tell your old man.”
With wide eyes, you turned your head to catch his gaze. You stared in wonder at his sudden determination while he returned his gaze in awe and a playful smirk.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” You watched as he leaned in to suckle on your sweet spot, the place on your neck just above your collarbone. The feeling caused you to slide your hand up his shoulder and run your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck.
"Mikey," You whispered his name so lowly he almost didn't hear you.
“Mm?” Robby hummed without breaking contact from his lips on your neck, the sensation of his teeth biting down a little too hard made you clench around his softened length.
“He’s gonna look at you differently. As a friend and an employee-”
“I know,” Robby interrupted as he pulled away slightly to cup your face and leaned in to peck a kiss on your lips before murmuring, “I don’t care. I just want you in my life. Even with all the noise and bullshit. I've fucked enough cum into you and shared too much of myself to let you go.”
It was obvious now that this was more than sex. He didn't get his high off the secrecy and shame of fucking his supervisor’s daughter under the radar. Robby was getting his high from just being with you, touching, and connecting with every part of you that you were willing to give him. He couldn't get enough of it, and now he wanted the whole world to know.
“Maybe over dinner next Friday night?”
──────────۶ৎ───────────
this fic was deadass a year in the making, it was supposed to be small but it turned into this. enjoy and pls be gentle (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)
@robinavitchslut You are one of my absolute favorite writers on here. So, seeing that I was able to write something that you connected with means sm! TY! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
“Holy shit, M-Mikey!” you screeched into the pillow, your moans muffled against the soft cushion. Robby's large hand snaked from your hip to the back of your head, gathering your hair at the root into his fist, and gripped it harshly. You whimpered out in surprise when he yanked at your scalp to lift your head off the pillow. His thrusts did not falter as you moaned out into the bedroom, the wanton sound echoing throughout his apartment.
“Mikey-” you gasped as he tugged harder on your hair until your arched back was pressed against his coarse, hairy chest. He wrapped his arm around your waist and moved his hand from your hair toward your neck. Grabbing it gently to hold rather than to squeeze. The possessive gesture makes you even wetter, and the squelching sounds between you get louder.
“The whole point of bringing you to my place," he grunted with his lips against your ear, "is so that you can be. Fucking. Loud." His thrusts were timed perfectly with his words.
“O-okay, I’m sor- Ow! Ow, fuck!!” You blubbered at a particular thrust that felt uncomfortably deep.
"Oh, Shit. Baby, are you okay?" Robby asked urgently before immediately pulling out, holding you more gently against his chest. Both the palms of his hands are now resting against your ribs, gripping you as delicately as possible to keep you from falling onto the mattress.
You panted heavily with your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath, waiting for the dull ache inside you to go away. Robby was getting desperate; your silence and lack of confirmation that you were okay were eating at him.
He gently grabbed your cheeks and forced you to turn your head back to face him behind your shoulder, needing eye contact to read you properly.
"Talk to me," Robby pleaded with a soothing tone, while his chocolate brown eyes bore into you. Anxious for an answer while trying not to stress you out, "Where does it hurt?"
"My-my-" you mewled softly as you made an effort to answer him properly. His encouraging nod helped you find the words you were looking for. "M-my cervix."
Robby tsked softly before leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your full cheek.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," He murmured, his salt and pepper beard scratching your skin as his lips brushed tenderly against your soft and sweaty skin. The gesture made your eyes flutter closed to enjoy the intimacy of the moment, making you feel closer to him than when he was inside you.
"Do you want to stop?" He cooed against your cheek, the immediate shake of your head to his suggestion made him chuckle softly.
"No, just s-slow down. Please?" Robby nodded before placing one more kiss on your cheek.
“Alright. I need to check your pretty pussy first, okay?” He cooed, not making a single move to position you until he got your consent.
You nodded gently, and he moved his grip down to your waist as he lowered you down carefully onto your stomach and flipped you over with ease. His strength always surprised you, given that his only workout consisted of being constantly on the go at the Pitt. Robby grabbed your knees and pushed them up until they were inches from your shoulders, pressing against your breasts.
“Hold it,” He ordered, his role as an attending physician bleeding into his dominance in the bedroom. Your brain began to go all fuzzy and slow to process his command. Robby sensed your hesitance and glanced up at you with an arched brow, making you quickly obey and place your hands behind your knee to hold your legs back for him.
“Good girl,” He growled lowly as he kept his gaze on your soaked folds.
As he continued his inspection, your cheeks began to flush in this position. It always made you feel a little shy despite the numerous occasions he’s fucked you in a mating press. Except now you were exposing yourself to him instead of being covered by his tall and burly build.
A startled gasp escaped your lips as you felt the pad of his thumb circle your bundle of nerves. It quickly snapped you out of your anxious thoughts. You noticed his eyes were trained on your folds with his brows furrowed in concentration.
“What-what are you do-” Robby interrupted you before you could finish your sentence.
“Need to lube you up before I check you properly,” He continued to stimulate your engorged clit with slow and controlled circles, not stopping until you were weeping. Despite this technically being a clinical check-in, you didn't even try to hold back the desperate mewling coming out of your parted lips. Robby was borderline teasing you, and it was driving you insane.
It wasn't until he glanced down and saw the wet spot forming under your ass from your arousal dripping down your folds and onto his sheets. He finally decided that you were wet enough, and he scooted closer on his knees before carefully working one thick finger into your folds. It was a tight fit, but he didn't stop until he circled the tip of his finger around for your cervical opening.
Robby grunted softly once he located your opening, feeling the small dent.
“How does that feel?” His cock twitched against his thigh at the soft feeling of your opening, a sign that you were ovulating.
“A-a little weird,” you strangled breathlessly as you clenched around his finger, feeling more turned on than before.
“Bad weird?” He inquired, trying his hardest not to pull his finger out and go back to fucking you until you were filled up.
“No-no, l-like awkward weird not painful w-weird,” you panted heavily as your thighs began to shake in your grip.
Robby nodded before pulling his finger out, watching your slit clench around nothing and your clit twitching for contact. He placed his palm on one of your knees and spread you further open, allowing you to release your hold one of the backs of your knees.
You watched as he fisted his cock at the base and pressed the tip of his circumcised shaft against your clit. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, your thighs shaking in his grip.
"You ready pretty girl?" Robby growled, his voice hoarse from the frantic need to be inside you again.
"Yes."
A broken moan escaped your parted lips as he pushed his length all the way in in one thrust.
"Fuck-" Robby groaned through clenched teeth.
"I'm not gonna last," He panted heavily, "touch your pretty little clit for me."
You nodded quickly before reaching down to circle your clit with your fingertips, watching him groan at the sight and the way your slit flutters around his cock. He quickened his pace with a groan while he kept his fist at the base of his cock. Despite the lustful monster in him taking over, he was not going to make the same mistake of almost bruising your cervix again.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cum for me, baby, please. Fuck, I'm so fucking close," Robby practically begged before leaning in to latch his lips around your nipple and suck on the soft nub until it hardened against his tongue.
"Daddy! Fuck me!" You whined as you came around his cock, your cum leaking onto his sheets, and adding to the puddle below your ass.
"That's it, baby," He groaned against your nipple before burying his face between your breasts.
"Where do you want it? Tell me now."
"Inside. Inside me, please," you pleaded as you wrapped your legs around his hips and hooked your feet to keep him inside.
"FUCK." Robby growled against your chest as he buried as much of himself as he could. His cock pulsated inside you as he kept moving his hips in shallow thrusts to fuck his cum further into you.
You gasped as he collapsed his full weight on top of you, his face buried into your chest, and he panted heavily. He reached forward to wrap one of his arms around you, making you arch your back to allow him to snake his arm under and hold you.
A comfortable silence settled in the room; the only sounds were you both finally catching your breath, mingled with the busy streets at midnight in Pittsburgh.
“You know we’ll have to tell your old man.”
With wide eyes, you turned your head to catch his gaze. You stared in wonder at his sudden determination while he returned his gaze in awe and a playful smirk.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” You watched as he leaned in to suckle on your sweet spot, the place on your neck just above your collarbone. The feeling caused you to slide your hand up his shoulder and run your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck.
"Mikey," You whispered his name so lowly he almost didn't hear you.
“Mm?” Robby hummed without breaking contact from his lips on your neck, the sensation of his teeth biting down a little too hard made you clench around his softened length.
“He’s gonna look at you differently. As a friend and an employee-”
“I know,” Robby interrupted as he pulled away slightly to cup your face and leaned in to peck a kiss on your lips before murmuring, “I don’t care. I just want you in my life. Even with all the noise and bullshit. I've fucked enough cum into you and shared too much of myself to let you go.”
It was obvious now that this was more than sex. He didn't get his high off the secrecy and shame of fucking his supervisor’s daughter under the radar. Robby was getting his high from just being with you, touching, and connecting with every part of you that you were willing to give him. He couldn't get enough of it, and now he wanted the whole world to know.
“Maybe over dinner next Friday night?”
──────────۶ৎ───────────
this fic was deadass a year in the making, it was supposed to be small but it turned into this. enjoy and pls be gentle (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)
Watching Robby sit on his bike and use his shirt to wipe sweat off his face, revealling his squishy, hairy, sexy belly was really all it took…
Words: 7,9k (I can't just be normal, ever)
Content: Older Man/Yonger Woman (Reader is late 20s, Robby is in his fifty), Robby is a dick but reader is lowkey into it, belly riding, degradation, verbal humiliation, light dom/sub, daddy kink, PiV sex, rough sex, hair pulling, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public bj
This is just smut. I have no excuses for this. I was encouraged.
No use of Y/N
Read on Ao3 or below the cut:
It was a shit day in the Pitt.
When asked about your day, that was always your reply.
The patients were either monumentally stupid, disrespectful, verbally abusive assholes, intoxicated to the point they could not even hear the questions you asked, or the most precious, sweetest people ever - and the sweet, precious ones were always the sickest.
It was a cruel running gag of the universe, you were sure of it. The stupid assholes survived, and the sweet grandmas who called you hun and made you compliments, the polite single mums tearing themselves apart to keep their children’s worlds whole, died.
PTMC was chronically underfunded, the staff chronically overworked, running on shitty coffee, insomnia, saviour complexes and fumes, and the air conditioning unit perpetually shit.
What was there to love about this job?
You sat on the low wall by the ambulance bay, tucked away from the chaos of the ER against the corner by the wall with your knees drawn up to your chest and your head resting against the brick wall behind you.
It was your own personal little safe haven.
Everyone on staff had one.
Trinity and Dennis had the break room. Donnie and Jessy the hallways leading down into the subbasement where only the generators, central supply and the IT gremlins (as you affectionately called them) hid. Abbot and Robby had the roof.
You had this corner.
You took another sip from the can of soda you held in your lap. The late summer heat was oppressive, squeezing in around you until the air felt too heavy, too thick. The can was sweating as much as you, condensation seeping through the cheap fabric of your scrubs. Your feet were aching, your head too. Your hoodie lay discarded next to you on the wall. The ER itself was freezing cold, but the outside smoldering, and the waiting room was somehow even hotter.
ER waiting rooms often defied all laws of physics.
Yeah, when asked about your day, you always replied with shit.
The pay wasn’t enough for the backbreaking labour expected of you to keep the crumbling healthcare system afloat on your compassion and spite alone. The patients were ungrateful or so gut-wrenchingly tragic you couldn’t breathe. You woke in cold sweats most nights, remembering the faces of patients you’d lost years ago. The air conditioning unit might as well have come straight from hell with how it savoured torturing you. You were still paying off student loans and would continue to do so for many years just to have parents argue with you that vaccines were a hoax, their children lying in the next room as they slowly died from preventable diseases.
And yet, despite it all, you kept coming back. You came back every day. You picked up shifts when colleagues called out. You volunteered for holidays so those who actually had a family could spend the day with them. You stayed longer when the Pitt was swamped.
Perhaps you had some masochistic tendencies (you definitely had those).
Perhaps you were simply insane.
For some inexplicable reason, staying away from the hospital longer than two days in a row drove you mad with boredom. You stood in the front row of every mass casualty, swirling through the ER, past bloodied gurneys and screaming patients, blood pounding in your ears and feeling alive like never before amidst the death and devastation.
There was another perk to being an absolute, hopeless workaholic, and it was currently arriving for his shift.
Robby started riding his new motorcycle to work a few weeks back, and with the shock of PittFest still deep in everyone’s bones, it took a few days for people to even realise. It started with Dana pursing her lips. It ended with you somehow finding time to sneak away for your ‘lunch’ break every day at seven a.m. when Robby arrived for his shift.
He didn’t always notice you sitting on your wall with your packed lunch and ice-cold can of soda, no matter the weather. When he did, he shot you one of his strained, tight-lipped smiles or waved before heading inside to do handovers with Abbot.
You worked the midnight to noon shift, your time at the hospital overlapping with Abbot’s, Shen’s and Robby’s shift, a new system being tested by the hospital to provide greater continuity of care. The second-you worked from noon to midnight.
You didn’t mind.
You got to watch Robby arrive for work and wave him goodbye when you left to go home.
You looked forward to it. To these slammed eight hours you got to see him, be near him, work at his side, sometimes close enough to smell the scent of soap he used still clinging to his skin.
Robby never wore a helmet.
In front of Dana, he pretended he did. When you were around for one of their arguments on the matter, Robby always glanced over to you, sharing a private, conspiratorial smirk with you and winking.
Your knees went weak every single time.
It was pathetic really, how huge your crush on your much older attending had grown.
It started as fawning admiration for his skill and calm even amidst the shittiest, harshest shifts when you were nothing but a flustered med student who, no matter what she did, always stood in the way. When you were a resident, still overwhelmed that you actually got placed with your dream hospital, you worked tirelessly, making it your whole existence to prove to Dr Robby you could be trusted, that you were good, that you’d earned your spot here. That you soaked up everything he taught you. That you had not wasted the time he spent teaching you. You wanted to make him proud. You craved his approval and praise.
You were pathetic.
But when he’d been the first to congratulate you when you passed the boards, and he’d been the one to tell you your application for the attending position at PTMC’s ED had been accepted - those were your most cherished memories…
Robby parked in the same spot as always, close to the entrance of the ambulance bay. Sweat clung to his brow. The corners of his eyes were crinkled from a lifetime of smiling. You wondered when he stopped. What had sucked the joy and happiness out of him? Perhaps it was this job.
I’d make him happy again, that unhelpful, ridiculous little voice in your head whispered. You shoved it away roughly. What did you even have to offer a man at least twenty years your senior?
I’d suck him off so good he’d forget how to breathe.
“Oh my god.” You muttered to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to fight off the heat creeping up your neck. When had you become such a fucking pervert? Lusting after some old man. Your former teacher. Your boss!
You were still watching Robby, like the unhinged little freak you’d become for him. He was checking his phone, still sitting on his bike. You watched him shove the phone back into the side pocket of his cargo pants and then, as if time had turned to molasses, you watched him shove his hand under the hem of his shirt and lift it up to wipe the sweat off his face and beard.
Your eyes glued themselves to the sight unfolding before you, to Robby’s soft, round stomach on full display, protruding over his belt like the most delicious fucking muffin you’d ever seen. You stared at his sweaty skin, the liberal dusting of coarse dark hair covering it, mouth quite literally watering at the sight.
Robby dropped his shirt again. It caught on his belly, leaving a delicious sliver uncovered, the same slivers you had stolen glances of every time he stretched his back in the ER, causing his scrubs to ride up.
Robby looked up and froze. Your eyes met across the ambulance bay. You couldn’t look away. What was wrong with you? Ogling his belly in public like some- some belly fetishist!
Heat suffused your face and neck, making even the scorching temperatures around you go green with envy.
Robby stared back at you. A slight pink tinge spread across his cheeks. He tugged on his shirt, even when it sat normally again and averted his eyes, twisting his head away with more force than necessary.
You were still staring at him.
You couldn’t stop.
Seeing his naked belly had broken something, fried some essential wiring in your brain, you were sure of it.
Robby didn’t look at you when he stalked past to disappear into the Pitt.
You stayed. Trapped between mortification at being caught ogling him and depraved delight at the sight that had burnt itself into your retinas.
This was not good.
This was not at all helpful with regards to your concerning, lecherous crush - though crush was far too tame a word to describe the absolutely filthy thoughts that came to haunt you every time you lay down in bed to catch some sleep between shifts.
You finished your soda, ate the last of your ‘lunch’ while desperately trying to remember how to act normal before heading back inside.
The scent of Robby’s aftershave, still fresh in the morning, still hung in the air. You felt yourself blush again. Oh god. You were fucked. You were so royally, monumentally FUCKED.
I want to fuck him.
“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” You hissed to yourself.
Dana shot you an incredulous look over the edge of her glasses, one brow raised, no doubt seeing the blush still darkening your skin when you went to check the board. You forced yourself not to look for Robby before grabbing a tablet to throw yourself back into the ER madness - a mistake, you realised as you turned around and collided with another person.
A solid, soft, very good-smelling person.
“Dr- Dr Robby.” You muttered, backing away quickly. Could this day get any worse?
You looked up on reflex - it was impossible not to look at Robby, not to look for Robby, but all you could think about as you were peering up at your old mentor and object of all your desires was how you would ride your pillow tonight while thinking about the mouth-watering show he’d inadvertently put on for you this morning.
Your blush only darkened further.
Had you been any more sane in the moment, you’d have noticed Robby’s own flushed skin, or the fidgedy, uneasy energy surrounding him.
Dana looked from you to him and promptly decided she was not paid enough to deal with whatever was going on between the two attendings.
You were called away to one of your cases and quickly ducked around Robby to scurry away, taking all your perverted thoughts and shame with you.
Good thing mind-readers don’t exist. And in case they do, please don’t tell on me.
Your shift dragged on, tugging you along at the most infuriating, pointless pace ever. You liked your shift time slot. You liked that you got to spend one half with the nightshift crew and the second half with the dayshift. Nights were slower and somewhat calmer but also batshit crazy. Days were turbulent and demanding. You never wanted to go back to twelve uninterrupted hours of this shit ever again. Eight were more than enough.
You’d been avoiding Robby, and you’d almost made it to the end of your shift without interacting with him. You’d even voluntarily exiled yourself to chairs.
Just another hour to go before you could slink out, taking your shame with you and hopefully, hopefully Robby would have forgotten all about this by tomorrow. Or at least you could both pretend it had never happened.
You swirled around at the sound of your name being called - and cursed.
Robby made his way through the flow of staff and patients towards you.
“A word.” It was a question. He pushed the door to an empty exam room open and, hanging your head in defeat and embarrassment, you ducked under his arm and slipped into the room. Robby followed. The door fell shut. The chaos and noise of the ER faded away, leaving you alone with your stupid blush and stupid, feral thoughts and rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears.
Robby towered over you with his arms crossed, ridiculously tall and handsome and looking at you with that stern, sexy disappointed-teacher-look. You both shrunk under it and internally purred like a cat getting exactly what it wanted. He tilted his head and tipped it forward, looking down at you with those delicious dark puppy eyes-
“I expected more professionalism from you. If you have an issue, I thought you would have enough respect for me to bring it up with me personally, instead of doing this fucking charade of playing cat and mouse!”
Your eyes flicked down to his belly. Your severely unhelpful brain supplied pictures of you kneeling in front of him, feeling his belly against your forehead, choking on his cock while he berated you in exactly that tone.
Robby hissed your name. You flinched, head whipping up to meet his eyes again.
I’m no better than a man.
“I-” You mumbled unhelpfully, unsure of how to save yourself from the mess you were sinking into deeper and deeper the longer you were alone with him.
He was still going. Working himself up into a right frenzy while tearing into you in this new stress-fuelled way of his he never used to do before. You remember well how he knocked a former R4, who’d long since moved to another hospital after making attending, down a peg for shouting at you so hard after you made a harmless mistake you started crying and hyperventilating.
He was a very different man back then.
Not that you minded this new, rougher, meaner version of him.
“I know I am not the youngest man anymore-” An edge of insecurity slipped into his voice. “-but you are a doctor for Christ’s sake! I didn’t do anything inappropriate, so I don’t get what the fuck is going on with you that you can’t even do your fucking job today! Are you thinking about going to HR? Gloria? Is that it? Some snowflake shit about not being able to see some skin without getting offended?”
He was still going.
I want you to call me a filthy slut while I ride your sexy belly.
Silence.
No-
Oh god no-
“Did I say that-”
“Yep.”
You wanted to disappear. To stop existing. Better yet, for you to never have existed in the first place.
“I-” Your mouth went dry, so dry that every swallow felt like trying to force sand down your throat. “Fuck- I’m sorry-” You hid your face behind your hands and fought against the tears burning in your eyes.
Fuck.
Fucking stupid.
How could a decently smart person - and you had to at least be decently smart to have made it through med school and residency - be so fucking stupid?!
“Dr Robby, please- I-”
You bolted out of the room, leaving behind a stunned, slightly flushed Robby.
***
It was almost eight pm when a knock on your door tore you from your spiralling thoughts that shifted from berating yourself to considering resignation - because what else was there left to do at this point?
You’d stayed hidden in chairs until your shift was over and used the noon rush of people using their lunch break to see a doctor to slip out without bumping into Robby.
You barely slept, and you still had not decided whether you’d be showing up for your shift at midnight.
Peering through the peephole made your blood run cold.
Robby.
A dishevelled, sweaty, irritated-looking Robby. At your door.
You opened the door a crack, hiding behind it with only your head popping out. You felt Robby stare down at you, but you had no bravado left to face him. You didn’t have any bravado. You would have never said that to him, never confessed to your raunchy thoughts and fantasies. You still had no idea how the words slipped out.
“Can we talk?”
You nodded, still not looking up and stepped aside enough for him to slip into your apartment. You shut the door and slunk back down the hall and into the living room, where you sat down on your sofa, curling up into a tight ball with your knees to your chest and a pillow clutched in your arms.
Silence stretched between you, thick and loaded.
“Look…” Robby ran his hands through his hair and slumped down in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table with an audible sigh. “I don’t appreciate being ridiculed.”
Your head snapped up, brows dipping into a frown, lips parting as though to say something, but Robby lifted his hand, cutting you off.
“I made you uncomfortable, and instead of being a man about it and acknowledging it and apologising, I was a dick. That wasn’t right, but paying me back like that? That wasn’t cool either.”
“I- I didn’t-”
Robby snorted, a bitter, self-deprecating sound that sent a pang through your heart. “Right. Because I’m supposed to believe you meant that.”
“I did.” Your voice was a tiny, fragile little thing, bearing the evidence of the hours you’d spent panicking, thinking about what you were supposed to do to fix this, and no negligible amount of crying.
It was Robby’s turn to stare at you, opening and closing his mouth in a futile attempt to come up with something to say.
“I shouldn’t have- I never thought I’d say something like that to you, and that was so inappropriate, and I am sorry, but I won’t sit here and let you claim I was lying. Because I wasn’t.” Your cheeks burnt, but you forced yourself to hold eye contact even when your throat felt as though it was swelling shut.
“You- meant it?”
You nodded.
“You want to ride my belly?”
You looked away. Heat surrounded your face. “I think you look good. Really good.”
“Then you have very questionable taste, kid.”
You put the pillow down and got up, moving past your coffee table to stand in front of Robby. He watched you with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. You set your knee against the edge of the cushion, right between his spread legs.
“Do you have a problem with my taste?”
Robby whispered your name, a warning that was already hanging on by a thread, brittle, too weak to conceal his own yearning he’d been fighting to keep hidden from you.
You were too young, too pure for him to drag you down with his own messiness and inability to commit. He didn’t care about workplace relationships, he should as department chair and man who’d been frozen out by scorned nurses to the point Dana had to berate everyone involved into restoring some semblance of professionalism, but you- he didn’t want to mess you up, and everything he touched got messed up.
“Maybe it’s not my taste that’s the issue.” You placed your hand against his shoulders, curling the fingers of the other around his chin softly to force him to look at you. “Maybe it’s your perception.”
You bent down further. Robby bristled, taking a sudden, deep inhale. He looked like a man trapped between resisting and breaking, and a wicked, depraved part of you desperately wanted to see him snap.
You dropped to your knees. Robby groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to resist the temptation of looking at you, watching you huddled between his spread legs in your skimpy sleep shorts and loose shirt that did nothing to conceal the fact you weren’t wearing a bra.
You nuzzled the inside of his thigh with your head while dragging your hands down his chest, over his soft, warm belly-
You bit your lip to stifle a groan. You were too far gone to be embarrassed by how wet you already were for him, how needy and addled with pure, carnal lust that had been building for years, had grown to such devastating heights you apparently blurted it out in the middle of getting your ass handed to you - unfairly - by your attending.
You toyed with the hem of Robby’s scrub top.
“You’re crazy.”
“It would seem that way.” You murmured as you pushed his shirt up, eyes latching onto the delicious sight of soft, warm, hairy flesh. His body looked like the epitome of comfort. Lived-in, functional, not like those overly polished, eating disorder-driven fuck boys that clogged up your timeline on social media and flooded the dating apps, talking about discipline while eating unseasoned chicken with rice and making women feel shit about their very normal, very natural bodies. You could picture yourself curling up against Robby to leech off his warmth at night. Or resting your head on him while he ran his fingers through your hair.
“But since I already made a fucking spectacle of myself at work, I might as well do this.” You pressed your lips against his stomach and bit back a needy moan. Robby’s hand shot up to thread through your hair. He watched you mouth at his belly as if it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, lavishing kisses and teasing kitten licks all over his squishy flesh.
He could not fathom how someone as pretty as you could ever be attracted to the worst part of him. Though perhaps these days the worst part of him was his steadily worsening temper… not that you seemed especially opposed to that too.
“Can I?” You looked up at him through your lashes.
“What?” Robby struggled to keep up with you, his mind preoccupied with trying to process how he’d ended up in your apartment with you kneeling between his legs and still somehow not to suck his cock.
“Ride your belly.” You painted languid patterns onto his exposed belly with your fingers, kempt nails scraping softly over his skin, making him shiver.
“Yeah.”
His reply came out breathless, without him really thinking about it. You emitted a squeaking noise of pure delight, and any inhibitions he might still have had melted away under it. You got to your feet, shimmying out of your shorts and panties before straddling him. You tugged and pulled impatiently on his shirt, but Robby needed a moment to get over the way your tits were in his face.
His shirt joined your shirts on the ground. Your fingers found their way into his hair and beard, toying with the coarse hair while rolling your hips against him. You stifled a moan against his temple, insides clenching violently around nothing as you dragged your soaked folds over his soft flesh. You applied more pressure, and his flesh gave way for you, allowing you more friction without it hurting or overstimulating your already swollen clit. You felt his hair against your inner thighs and heated flesh, a teasing tickle that sent prickling shivers of desire and need down your spine.
“Robby-” You moaned breathlessly. His face caught in your hands, you tipped his head back and slanted your lips over his. It was a messy kiss, uncoordinated and frankly, pathetically eager.
But was it your fault this sad old man underneath you was so fucking hot it burnt your neurons to just look at him?
After a stunned moment, Robby reciprocated. He cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other settled on the small of your back to pull you closer. He slipped down on the armchair a little, making it easier for you to grind against him.
“Fuck, sweetheart-” He muttered against your lips when you pulled back to gasp for air. “This what you wanted? You young people have some fucking issues…”
You shuddered above him.
Robby’s eyes lit up with mirth.
“Right… no, this is not all you wanted, is it? What was it you said? You want me to call you a filthy slut?”
You could only nod.
“Tell me, baby.” His hands fell to your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he pulled you down harder against him. “What is it your deranged mind pictured when you thought about this? Did you get yourself off to the thoughts of an old man’s floppy stomach?”
You nodded again.
“Words, sweetheart. Can’t help you if you don’t talk. Come on, be a big girl and use your words.”
You moaned.
Robby forcibly stilled the movement of your hips.
“I-” You couldn’t meet his eyes. Embarrassment burnt a path up your throat, and for some terrible, filthy reason it turned you on all the more. “You’re pulling my hair, holding my arms behind my back, and degrade me. Sometimes- sometimes you tell me to stroke your cock while I get myself off. To make myself useful.”
Robby inhaled a hissing breath through his teeth.
Slowly, he ran his hand up your spine, just to drag it back down and catch the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms to help him peel it off you. His eyes flicked down to your breasts immediately, mentally cataloguing the sight of you, saving it to his memory.
He threaded his fingers through your hair, palms flush against your scalp, just to curl his fingers, gripping your hair tightly at the root, and you thought you could have come right then, just from finding out Robby knew how to properly pull a girl’s hair.
He caught your wrist and twisted your arm behind your back, just enough to hurt but not so much he would dislocate your shoulder, dragging another stuttering moan from you.
“Go on then.” Robby purred, voice lower than before, eyes dark with hunger. “If you’re getting yourself off by rubbing your little cunt all over me like a fucking slut, you might as well make it worth my while.”
You could barely move. Between the silent threat of your arm twisted behind your back, forcing you to arch your back and lewdly present your breasts to Robby, and his hand in your hair, you were trapped.
It was so much better than you ever thought it would be.
Robby chuckled. “Fucking hell… and here I thought you were this innocent, well-behaved little thing.”
You finally managed to reach the waistband of his pants. It took you several attempts to manage to slip your hand under it, straining in Robby’s grasp and gasping when a movement had your shoulder aching. Robby, all the while, mocked you for struggling, for dripping all over him like a fucking whore, for getting so turned on by being man-handled.
“There you go… see, that wasn’t hard, was it? Pretending to be a useless, dumb bitch isn’t going to get you out of this, sweetheart. You put yourself in this situation, now be a big girl about it, hm-” Robby was cut off by a groan when you managed to close your fingers around his hard length. You tugged, forcing him out of the confines of his boxers. He felt big - long and heavy in your hand. Robby’s grip tightened around your wrist, dragging another stuttering moan from your lips.
You rolled your hips, rutting helplessly against his belly, immobilised by his strong arms around you, his cock throbbing against your palm-
“That’s all you can do? Hm? You get your hand around a cock, and suddenly that brain of yours doesn’t work anymore? Come on, sweetheart, put some effort in it. I thought you were going to make this worth my while? Why should I sit here and watch some whore get off?”
Pleasure pounded through your veins and rose to your head, wrapping your brain into a fuzzy blanket of bliss. Robby’s words made shame and embarrassment skyrocket in your chest. His hand around your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back, had sharp pain shooting through you, gasoline to the already raging storm of desire and need wreaking havoc over you.
“Robby- Robby, fuck- don’t stop-”
Tears clung to your lashes and rolled down your cheeks. Your chest rose and fell with each laboured breath you forced into your lungs. Your skin prickled as though you’d touched a live wire.
Robby’s dark eyes were glued to you, glinting with desire and wonder at the discovery of your own depravity. Never, never would he have expected the bubbly, sweet, innocent girl who’d been his med student all those years ago would get up to shit like this.
In all the years he’d spent pining after you, he never dared to think you would be this fucking perfect for him.
“Are you going to come? Are you seriously going to come from this? Fucking hell, sweetheart… such a disgusting, filthy fucking whore…”
“Y-yes-” You threw your head back, just for him to pull on your hair tighter, force your head back further until your toes were curling and your lips falling open around a suffocated moan. Your hand, already slick with pre-cum, tensed around his throbbing cock. “I’m a disgusting whore- your- your filthy whore- Robby- ah-”
“Oh, mine, are you? Am I to believe you won’t crawl to another man to have him throw you around the second I leave here?”
You tried to nod, but you could barely move your head.
“You can pretend to be a good girl all you want, baby, I don’t fucking believe you.”
“Daddy-”
A shudder tore through Robby, followed by a grin splitting across his face.
“Daddy? Oh ho ho, sweetheart.”
Your cheeks heated up under a fierce, bright red blush spreading across them.
“No no no, don’t you dare pretend you didn’t say that. Jesus, you’re such a fucking mess… no wonder you’re getting off to me tossing you around like you’re nothing but a used cum rag.”
“Robby-”
“No, baby.” Robby let go of your hair just to grab your chin. “No backpaddling now. Address me properly, pet.”
“D-daddy-”
“There you go. So there is some brain in that pretty head of yours after all.”
“Fuck me, daddy- please- ohmygod- I want to come on your dick-”
Robby was too far gone to question anything at this point. He was far too old to act like this, far too old to not waste a single thought of contraception or STIs or just the fact that he was your boss and you were far too young for him.
Robby let go of your arm. He had enough mental wherewithal about him still to ease it out of the uncomfortable position he held it in. He watched you for a second to make sure he’d not done any damage. You might be a little sore tomorrow, but from the way you moved it and rolled your shoulder to shake off the tension clinging to your muscles, he was sure you were fine.
You emitted a surprised squeal when Robby stood up with you in his arms, effortlessly, as though you weighed nothing. He turned you around and pushed you face-first onto the armchair. Your knees sank into the cushion. You clung to the backrest, just for Robby to grab your hair and push your face down. His fingers dug into your side, thumb pressing down on the small of your back viciously until you arched your back for him.
“Fuck- don’t even need any training, huh?”
You felt his blunt head rub through your soaked folds, heard the sharp intake of air he took in your ear as he bent over you, his front moulding to your back, belly pressed flush against your back-
“Keep that up and I might let you come.”
“Daddy-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Can’t trust a stupid slut to do as she’s told.” Robby forced your head to the side. You met his eyes through tear-soaked lashes. His lips brushed harshly against your cheek, his beard scratching your skin deliciously. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Come on. Beg me. I know you want to.”
“I want you-” You moaned, bucking against him, desperately seeking some friction to ease the painful pressure between your legs. “I want you to fuck me, daddy- I’ve wanted you- ah- wanted you for so long-”
“Yeah? How long, baby? How long have you been thinking about my cock stretching out that slutty little cunt?”
“Years-” Your nails dug into the fabric of your armchair, the material straining beneath your desperate grip, tears tumbling down your cheeks and falling off your jaw. A desperate sob tore through your chest. “Robby, please-”
You were cut off by the overwhelming stretch of his cock breaching you, pushing forward in a single, devastating thrust that had you trembling and whimpering under Robby. He felt so good- so fucking good- The stretch of him forcing your body to open up to him was just short of too much. He filled you up so good, thick and hot and heavy, a solid, throbbing weight inside your quivering, sopping cunt you could not forget.
“Shut up.” Robby hissed in your ear, knowing his sharp tone would only drag more delicious, high-pitched whines from you. “You got yourself into this mess, now be a good girl and take what daddy gives you. I don’t want to fucking hear you complain, sweetheart. You didn’t have to act like a fucking whore, you chose to, and now you see what daddy does to pathetic sluts throwing themselves at him.”
He fucked you in quick, jostling thrusts that had the feet of the armchair scraping across your flood. A distant, very distant part of you worried about Robby knocking the whole thing over from how hard he was pounding into you, but it quickly shut up when he let go of your hair to hold onto your waist, face nuzzling into the back of your neck.
He was panting, breathing loud and heavily, only interrupted by low, deep, rumbling grunts. His hips slammed into you, slamming you into the worn cushions. His star of david necklace tapped against your shoulder blade on every thrust while he mouthed at your ear and the side of your face, beard scraping deliciously over your sweaty skin.
The feeling of your cunt clamped down around him like a vice had apparently melted away every nasty word he could have thrown at you for your own sick, twisted pleasure, replacing the severe, struggling man you’d grown used to interacting with with a much softer version.
He muttered sweet nothings and tender praise into your skin while clinging to your waist as if you were a life raft.
And fuck, you’d be his raft, life preserver and stress relief if only he kept fucking you like this.
A younger version of you made a vow what felt like lifetimes ago to not waste any more of your time on toxic, unstable men, but for Robby you might just throw every common sense out the window.
Robby’s big nose smushed into your cheek, he kissed the tears off your skin, telling you how good you were doing for him, how good you felt for him, while a ceaseless, barely comprehensible string of daddy and please tumbled off your lips and into the cushion he’d shoved your face into.
Within minutes - or had it been hours? You weren’t sure. You sure as hell couldn’t trust your mind in this situation - Robby had reduced you to a whimpering, drooling mess. Your own arousal mixed with his pre-cum ran down your thighs and slicked up every thrust, causing an obscene symphony of wet noises paired with the telltale slap slap slap of skin hitting skin to fill up your dim living room.
Robby pressed his face into the space between your shoulder blades. He reached around you, pressing two fingers to your swollen clit, rubbing the pads of his fingers over it at just the right rhythm to make you fall apart with a strangled scream, his name still on your lips.
He thrust into you once, twice more before following you, grunting against your skin and coming inside you. His hips kept moving, almost automatically, fucking his cum deeper inside you until it covered his whole length and dripped down his balls.
You’d turned to putty under him. Drooling, happy, satisfied putty. You let your body slide down the backrest, collapsing on the armchair that was no doubt traumatised now, covered in your own arousal, cum, tears and drool as it was now.
You rubbed a hand over your face, humming in contentment.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
Robby’s voice was soft, caring, the way it only got with injured, scared children and hearing him address you with it after he just wrecked you and called you a useless, disgusting slut had your insides turn all mushy and warm.
You gestured down the hall, unable to get enough of your bearing to talk. You didn’t expect him to stay. You certainly didn’t expect him to pick you up bridal style and carry you to your bedroom, or to fetch a warm washcloth from your bathroom and use it and his tongue to carefully but thoroughly clean you up.
He set you down on your unmade bed and dragged the warm cloth over your thighs before, almost as an afterthought, cleaning himself up. He settled himself between your legs, face smushed against your heated flesh and lapped at your cunt until every last drop of him was gone and you were clinging to his hair, whimpering his name sweetly.
And because Robby was apparently a depraved, wretched old man, he stayed there. He stayed there, kissing and licking and sucking at your skin until he’d dragged another orgasm from you and Jesus, you sounded so fucking sweet and tasted so fucking good- Robby couldn’t pull himself away. No matter how much he should. No matter how much guilt crashed down on him now that the lust and hunger had subsided.
You wanted it, but how could he talk to you like that? Use you like that? You were such a sweet, young thing… how could you even know whether this was something you truly wanted? Not something you were made to believe you should enjoy? Robby had seen it before, and he had never wanted to be a part of it.
Even when you smiled at him, fingers playing with his hair and beard absentmindedly, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d done something terrible to you.
“Stay.” You croaked, and Robby felt himself nod before he could really think about the request, but yeah… what else was he going to do? Leave you? Fuck no.
He tossed the washcloth into your hamper and fetched you a glass of water. You gulped it down greedily before settling down, curling up against his side and nuzzling your face into his chest, your hand resting on his belly, drawing lazy circles onto his skin and playing with his hair. Robby buried his nose in your hair, the exhaustion of his shift finally crushing down on him, eyes falling shut…
Your alarm dragged you out of the easy, content, warm nap you’d slipped into. Your body felt pleasantly loosened, limbs still tingling faintly. Your arm felt sore, and a sharp, but not entirely unpleasant sting between your legs tore through you when you shifted.
Robby had wrapped his arms around you tightly, and it took some effort to extract yourself from him without waking him.
You tried to be as silent as you could as you took a shower and gathered your things for work. You left a note on the bedside table, telling Robby to stay as long as he wanted, and off you were.
You had an extra pep to your step as you strolled into the ER at midnight, just in time for your shift, and Lena commented on it right away - of course she did - gifting you one of her warm grins and peering at you over the edge of her glasses.
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.” You smirked and promptly slipped away to put your lunch in the fridge and your things into your locker before jumping into the nightly madness.
Your good mood stayed, and it did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Pitt either. Abbot shot you a questioning glance, a brow raised when your reply to his question came out a little more chirped than it should have. Ellis slapped you on the shoulder, grinning at you. Shen seemed a little intimidated, if not downright scared.
Seven a.m. rolled around, and you snuck away, grabbing your food and soda from the fridge, and made your way outside for your break you did not negotiate on. Seated on your wall by the entrance, you waited, perhaps with a little more anticipation than usual.
You watched Robby pull up on his motorcycle, the same motorcycle you saw parked outside your place when you left, a sight that put a grin onto your lips.
Whatever giddy, girlish delighted joy had carried you through the night, it withered the moment Robby got off his bike.
He didn’t look at you.
He didn’t acknowledge you.
He got off his bike, grabbed the helmet he never wore and marched right past you into the ER.
Tears stung in your eyes, and you didn’t know whether you hated yourself more for crying or for having had sex with him in the first place.
You knew he never committed to anyone. You knew his dating pool was basically limited to the hospital and the women who got into ill-advised affairs with him despite his reputation. You hadn’t even asked for anything. You had just had sex. Of course that didn’t have to mean anything you expected- you thought- that he’d at least look at you.
You chewed on your bottom lip, fingers trembling around your can of soda, trying not to let your thoughts spiral into self-loathing or self-deprecating versions of He is disgusted with you, of course he is. You are disgusting, playing on repeat in your head.
You finished your soda despite the nausea welling up inside your throat and dumped the rest of your lunch before heading back inside.
The change in your mood was felt viscerally by the whole ER, questioning looks following you on your way to your locker to deposit your lunch box. You didn’t notice Robby following you with his eyes, nor the concerned crease forming between his brows, but he was pulled away on an urgent case before he could make up his mind about whether to talk to you.
It was two hours into his shift when the silence between you became too much for him. The first chance he got, he slipped away, grabbed your wrist and tugged you with him into the family room.
You steeled yourself for another lecture.
It didn’t come.
“I-” Robby started, but stopped himself. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I was. Until you started ignoring me again.” You shrugged.
Robby winced. “Look- I shouldn’t have come to your place. We shouldn’t have- that-” He sighed. “It can’t happen again.”
“Why? Am I that disgusting to you?”
“Wh-what? No! How would you even come to that conclusion?!”
“Well, everything was fine last night, and now you’re back to being a dick. What else am I supposed to think? I’m sure most women don’t ask you to call them a slut while fucking them.”
“I don’t- Do you think most guys get off on calling the woman they’re with a slut?”
“Yeah, actually, they probably do.”
Robby hesitated. “Okay… point taken. Not that it was about calling you awful things for me. It was about you- about knowing I was making you feel good…”
You crossed your arms. “Then where’s the issue, Robby?”
He gestured vaguely at you. “You. All of you.”
“Wow. Thanks.” You deadpanned, glaring up at him.
“No! Not like that! Jesus. Look, you’re too young, yeah? And far too good to waste your time on someone like me. You deserve someone who’s kind and sweet and gentle. Not whatever the fuck I did to you last night.”
“You don’t get to tell me what’s good enough for me.” You sniffed. “You did what I asked you to do, you don’t think I deserve someone who does what I ask?”
“Come on, sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend with me. You didn’t actually enjoy that-”
“Why not? Oh, so you can be into BDSM but not me? Is that it? Leave me alone with that internalised sexism bullshit!”
“Woah, I’m not sexist.” Robby blinked at you.
You snorted.
“I’m not! I respect women.”
“Yeah, the thing with internalised things is you are not usually aware of them, but I’m not fucking getting into that with you now. Are you coming over tonight?”
Robby opened his mouth just to close it again. He had an odd resemblance to a fish in a moment, and you briefly wondered how it was fair for a man to be so handsome that even that didn’t turn you off.
“What?”
You rolled your eyes. “You need hearing aids or something? I asked if you’re coming over tonight.”
“Why?”
You shrugged and took a step forward, letting your hand trail over his protruding, soft belly. “I want to feel this against my forehead while I choke on you.”
Robby all but sputtered. He looked around frantically, as though to make extra sure the family room was empty, just to hiss your name under his breath.
You grinned.
Slowly, you lowered yourself to your knees. Robby didn’t stop you. You popped open the button of his cargo pants and dragged down the zipper, all the while looking up at Robby. He glanced from you to the door and back to you.
“I wanna suck you dick, daddy.” You purred. Robby cursed under his breath. He braced his hand against the door before slumping against it with his back when you curled your hand around his soft dick to pull it from his boxers.
“Jesus, kid-”
“Is that a yes?” You asked in a painfully fake, high-pitched, whiny tone.
“Yeah-”
You grinned to yourself as you parted your lips to take him into your mouth. He grew hard under your touch, under the insistent drag of your tongue over his velvety skin. You sucked on his tip until he was cursing, and giggled around him when he grabbed your hair to force you down, burying himself as deep in your throat as he could. He squished your nose into the coarse, dark curls at his base and your forehead into his soft belly.
You moaned around him, eyes fluttering shut.
It was so much better than you ever thought it would be.
A few minutes later, throat sore and hair more or less smoothed down, you emerged from the family room with a renewed pep in your step. Robby slunk out behind you a while later, once you’d cleared the hallway and hopefully nobody would put two and two together.
Dana shot him a withering, disapproving glare from central, Jack next to her merely raising his brow before shaking his head.
Robby blushed.
That night, after his shift, he found his way back to your apartment, and the night after that, and the night after… He was fucking addicted, and he didn’t even care when you sucked his cock like that or cried his name out so sweetly while coming around him - and especially not when you lay in bed next to him, playing with his stomach hair and smiling up at him so prettily…
remember when i said i was trying to quit smoking…
…yeahhh
anyway ghost has a cigarette settled between his chapped lips all while staring up at you. you’re riding him, although your movements are sloppy.
one massive hand sits atop your thigh, relaxed but every so often he gives it an encouraging squeeze cause “you’re doing such a good job for me, darlin’”
you’re sensitive. barely able to sit up straight as your pubic bone grinds against the patch of hair at the base of his cock. he’s buried so deep you don’t know where you end and he begins.
he has a hand resting behind his head, his biceps and the fat of his arms bulging each time he tenses. your inner walls drag along a vein that makes his eyes almost roll back into his skull.
“tha’s it…tha’s my girl. use me. i know that pussy’s missed me. let’s make sure she gets her fill.”
Simon never thought he'd love someone's mouth on his cock, ever. Just the thought of being so intimate with someone has him shuddering, sure he doesn't hate it. His past hookups were decent enough, he never went down on them because that wasn't really his thing and he never forced them to do the same either but when a few of them insisted, he gave in. But ofcourse it didn't really get him going.
So when you came along and sink down on your knees for the first time, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes, simon can't help but caress your hair. You unbuckled his cargo, pulling down the zipper as you stared at the prominent bulge straining against his boxers. You eagerly pulled them down, just enough to reveal his massive throbbing cock, "woah.. it's big" you whispered in awe. Your hands gently took the bulge in your palm, feeling it twitch to life in your hold.
He bit back a groan as you rubbed your small thumb on his swollen tip, the bead of precum smearing on your fingers as you let out a giggle and pulled away, bringing the finger to your mouth as you licked it clean, making simon grunt, "Fuck, don' do that luv." But you couldn't help but smirk as you looked up at him and while maintaining eye contact, you pushed his cock down your throat in one go.
Simon couldn't stop the groan that slipped as his large hand gripped your hair tightly, "Fuckin' hell", you choked around him, your spit dribbling past your mouth as you tried to hollow your cheeks but just the sheer girth of it has the inside of your cheeks stretched wide as you gagged. You could barely breath as he quite literally had blocked your windpipe, your hands fisted into simon's jeans as tears burned in your eyes. You pulled back before trying to take more of him but you just couldn't! He was just too big!!
You fully pulled back now, sputtering as you tried to catch your breath but simon groaned in frustration, "Bloody hell!" His hips bucked, chasing your warm mouth, "can't sii, you're so biiig!" You coughed as his tip poked your cheek but simon's hazel eyes looked down at you, wide with new found obsession, "ya can take it." He muttered before gripping your hair and thrusting his cock in.
He let out a grunt, pushing your head deeper onto his cock, not caring if you gagged or cried. Would it be sadistic if he happened to like the sounds you made as you struggled to take his cock down your throat, it did hurt him seeing your poor jaw slacked open as you tried your best to take him but he's make sure to kiss your face better, his poor dovie. Your cheeks sucked on his girthy length while your hands travelled to his heavy balls, squeezing them as he bucked his hips in sudden excessive pleasure.
"Jesus!" Simon's hand gripped your hair as his stomach scrunched and he came right down your throat, making you gag as you pulled back. His cum flowing down the side of your mouth as you coughed, sniffling as tears and snot ran down your face. It was such a mess and honestly as simon stared down at you, there was just hearts missing in his eyes, this had just become his new favourite view. "Ya were amazin', luv."
omg feel free to order a firing squad on me for this but pls hear me out is this too much
(tw: extreme breathplay)
titus danforth taking a bath w his monthly new plaything, feeling her up under the bubbles n whispering sweet, filthy words in her ear that make her shiver.
n then he maneuvers her on her knees, neck just above the water, n starts fucking her pretty, soft cunt sooo deep.
when he can feel that she's close, clenching around him like she wants his cock buried inside her permanently, he grunts, "breathe in, bunny. c'mon...deep breath."
confused, but too desperate to protest, she lets in a shaky inhale, then feels her head being pushed down into the water.
her immediately struggling against him, squirming n clawing at his thigh from behind her, while titus is enjoying every second of it.
bubbles of air rising to the surface rapidly, yet the helpless feeling of her lungs running out of air making her cum so hard, she's all dizzy n drooly when he finally brings her head back up 🐇
Summary: In a camp where survival depends on silence and obedience, you hide in the supplies tent, trying to outrun the shadow of the man who once pulled you out of the woods and claimed you as his own. But when a cruel voice cuts too deep and old wounds split open, you retreat to the only place you can fall apart unseen—only to find Joel stepping into the dark after you, his presence a reminder of the bond you shouldn’t want, and the one you can’t seem to break.
Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, fauxcest, taboo dynamics, daddy kink, reader calls Joel dad, ddlg themes, age gap (20s and 60s), dom!daddy!joel, praise kink, pinv, nipple pinching/rubbing, clit rubbing, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, squirting (once), finger sucking, pet names, joel calls reader bambi, little fawn and little one, kinda icky, insecure!reader, sub!reader, outbreak
A/N: Okey… if you don’t like things like this, I gently encourage you to just scroll or block me. This isn’t even the most taboo or ‘icky’ thing out there, but fandoms are really falling apart right now because of censorship and people’s inability to differentiate fiction from reality. So many writers are deactivating or taking their fics down, and it’s honestly really sad. If you enjoy this, the best way to support fic writers is by leaving a comment or a reblog—it helps to keep the fandom alive while everything feels like it’s crumbling. Anyways...I really hope yall enjoy this pookies!! <3
It was all a big, fucking mess.
Missing clothes darped haphazardly over boxes like ghosts of forgotten wardrobes—socks unpaired and with holes in them, jackets with messy hems spilling from open bags, and shirts crumpled into balls that might have once shielded someone from the biting chill.
You searched through the mess, fingers numb where the cold slipped through your thin gloves, trying to bring some order to it.
Across the tent, weapons laid scattered in a mockery of readiness—a rifle slumped against a stack of boxes, knives strewn like fallen leaves over the workbench, a pistol halfly buried under belts, its grip worn smooth from fear‑tightened hands.
The supplies tent was a tangled symphony of neglect that you inherited by your own choice.
You, were the one to volunteer for this job, the endless counting, packing, arranging and preparing that no one else dared to even touch.
And all because it kept you hidden, buried in the grit and grime, far from the piercing gaze of the man who had become your unwilling anchor.
Joel, the leader of this ragged group of survivors, was the one who had stumbled upon you in the frozen wasteland, your body curled in a fragile knot against the merciless cold, breath shallow as a whisper on the wind. He had pulled you from death's numb embrace, wrapped you in his coat that smelled of earth, and carried you back to this fragile resemblance of life. From that moment on, he treated you like the daughter fate had stolen from him, his rough hands gentle in their guidance, his voice a low rumble that insisted purpose where despair already has taken root.
But purpose came laced with something deeper, rumours that twisted in your chest like vines overtaking a crumbling wall, and so you fled into the shadows of this tent, avoiding the warmth of his presence that both soothed and cared.
The canned goods were cluttered in the lower shelves, their labels peeling, revealing dents and bulges that spoke about expiration dates long past. You lifted one after another, the weight heavy in your palms, peering at the faded ink that marked them as relics of a world that no longer existed.
A voice sliced through the quiet like a blade through fog then.
"This place is a disaster," he snarled, "No wonder we can't find anything. Look at this—half the ammo's scattered like fuckin' confetti, and these cans? Christ, they're older than the damn outbreak."
It belonged to Leon, one of the newer men of the group, his face weathered by the apocalypse but twisted now with frustration as he stormed into your space, boots kicking aside a stray boot in his haste.
You opened your mouth, but only a stutter escaped—a soft, halting: "I-I'm... trying to—" before it died on your lips.
Defense was a foreign language to you, vulnerability had been your shield and your curse, for a long, long time.
You shrank back, eyes dropping to the floor as if dirt could swallow you whole.
And he didn't stop, his anger swelling on. "Only reason you're still here is 'cause Joel dragged you in like some stray," he growled, the words dripping with disdain, painting you as a burden. "Half frozen mutt he pitied. Without him, you'd be buzzard food by now. So maybe stop fuckin' up and earn your keep."
The insult hit you deep, twisting the knife of your insecurities, and you just stood there, silent and small, your throat tight with the unshed tears and the weight of his judgment.
But Leon didn't notice the shift in the air, the subtle thickening as a presence entered the room. He didn't see Joel standing by the tent flap, entered silently, drawn by some instinct that always seemed to pull him towards you, his girl.
He watched, his jaw set and tight, eyes narrowing as the man's tirade unfolded, each word fuelling the quiet storm brewing within him.
When Leon turned around, his confidence evaporated like mist under the sun. There was no mistaking the aura that radiated from Joel: stern, unyielding, a force that filled the tent like smoke from a fire.
He was the leader, the authority etched into every survivor's bone in this group; the man whose word was law in this godforsaken lawless world.
Cross him, especially on his girl, and you were cast out into the wilds, where mercy was nonexistent.
Joel's gaze pinned Leon in place, dark and unblinking, the lines of his face carved deeper by the weight of command and the raw possessiveness that surged for you.
"What the hell do'ya think you doin'?" Joels voice was low at first, that gradually became a loud roar. "You don't talk to her like that. Not ever. She's worth ten of you and if you forget that again, you're gone—out there with the infected and the dead."
The yell was possessive, a statement that echoed his claim on you, the daughter he had taken from ice and hopelessness, the one whose every stutter, every tremble, multiplied his protective fury. His chest heaved quickly, veins standing out on his neck, the air crackling with the intensity of a father defending his own—or something dangerously close to even more?
Joel turned to you then, his expression softening just for a tiny moment: "Go on to your tent, honey'," he said.
You nodded quickly, legs unsteady as you gathered your coat, slipping past him with a brush of shoulders that sent a forbidden spark through you, his scent drifting into your awareness before you can stop it.
As you vanished, Joel came closer to Leon, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "If you even dare to raise your voice against her again, it'll be the last damn time you ever speak."
He nodded jerkily, face pale as snow, and backed out of the tent without another word, the flap swinging shut behind him loudly.
Alone now, Joel exhaled a long, deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He never wanted to raise his voice like that, ever. Not with you nearby, not when every yell took away this fragile peace he tried to build just for you, his girl, the new-found light he had pulled from the frozen dark.
But that's who Joel was...for you, he would roar down the heavens if it kept the shadows at bay.
The rain already eased into a small drizzles as Joel stepped out of the supplies tent, his camp sprawled before him: a cluster of weathered tents, wet by the rain and surrounded by leafless trees. Smoke curled lazily from a central fire pit, where a few survivors stirred a pot of thin stew, their faces marked by the things they had endured.
Joel's boots sank into the mud with each stride, the cold seeping through the leather, but he paid it no mind; the chill in his bones was nothing compared to the one gnawing at his heart.
"Tim!" he barked, his voice cutting through the murmur of the camp. "Patrol's leavin' in ten. You, Leon, and Livia—check the perimeter east of the ridge. Infected tracks reported last night; don't get sloppy."
The younger scavenger poked his head out from behind a stack of firewood, his hair damp and clinging to his neck.
Leon, still pale from the earlier confrontation, nodded mutely, avoiding Joel's gaze as he slunk towards the armory tent to gear up. Joel watched him go, a flicker of satisfaction run through him—no one touched his girl, not with words, not with anything else.
Turning to the others, Joel continued his demands, calloused hands resting on his hips.
"Billy, you reinforce the watchtower—those boards are rotted through. And Clint, you and the kid handle the traps; reset 'em along the water. We need fresh meat if this rain don't let up."
His hands moved with practiced efficiency—clapping a shoulder here, pointing emphatically there—his presence a stronghold against the spreading despair that threatened to swallow them all once. The group responded to him instinctively, their movements quickening under his check, the camp starting to awake again.
Yet beneath it all, in the shadowed place of his mind, you lingered like a faint melody, pulling at him with an ache that no amount of barked commands could drown.
His girl.
The thought of you wrapped around him, warm but tormenting, as he walked towards the map tent to plot the next supply raid. He had sent you to your tent like some kind of mutt, dismissed with a gruff exterior that masked the tenderness he yearned to unleash. 'Honey', he called you, the word slipping out like a confession, but you slipped away just as quickly, your eyes downcast, body tense with that avoidance that you wore like your armor.
If you weren't dodging him at every turn, at every god damned path, he would have followed you right then—pushed aside the flap of your shelter, knelt besides you, and pulled you into his arms until the world's cruelties melted away.
But you were a ghost to him now, haunting the edges of his vision, and the distance you enforced carved deeper than any infected could bite.
The memory tugged at him then, pulling him back through the veil of time to that frozen eve when he'd first claimed you from winters ruthless grips.
It was a night etched in ice and desperation, the world blanketed in snow, muffling the distant howls of the infected nearby.
Joel had been scavenging alone, his back-pack light, but his rifle heavy across his back, when he spotted you—a huddled form against the base of a snow-laden cliff, your body curled into itself like a wild fawn seeking safety and shelter.
Half-frozen to death; your lips blue tinted, breath a faint mist that barely stirred in the air, clothes ragged and already crusted with frost. You were a vision of fragility in this unforgiving realm, and in that moment something primal stirred in Joels chest—a fierce, paternal urge to shield what the apocalypse had nearly shattered.
He dropped to his knees besides you, gloved hands gentle as they brushed snow from your face, the touch coaxing a shiver from your chilled frame.
"Hey, hey now," he murmured, his voice sweet and coaxing like honey laced with gravel. "Ain't leavin' you out here to freeze. C'mon, let's get you all warm."
With effortless strength, he scooped you up, arms strong, protected around you and carried you to a sheltered hollow where he quickly set up a small, but efficient camp—a trap strung between trees, a fire pit in the middle, and something soft to sleep on.
The flames he coaxed to life danced shadows across your almost colourless skin as he stripped away your sodden layers with careful hands, wrapping you in his own coat, thick and smelling of pine smoke and his warmth. You trembled in his arms, teeth chattering and Joel drew you close, his body a furnace against yours, you cuddled into the curve of his chest until the shivers turned into quiet breaths.
One hand stroked your hair in rhythmic passes, the other rubbed slow circles on your back.
"That's it," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, calming as a lullaby in the storm. "I've got you. Just breathe, sweetheart. Where you come from? Lost out here all alone, hm?'"
Your voice was a fragile thread when it once came, stuttering and faint, spilling the fragments of a shattered past, settling the last pieces of hope you have on this gruff stranger.
You talked, and talked. A family torn by the outbreak, days of wandering through blizzards alone and at one point the days blurred in line between living and surrender.
Joel listened without judgment, his nods steady, eyes full of empathy that held your gaze without flinching. And when hunger clawed at you, he didn't hand you the rations; instead, he broke off pieces of jerky with his fingers, feeding you gently from his hand, one by one, the salt melting on your lips.
"Open up," he coaxed, his thumb brushing your chin, the intimacy of the act weaving an invisible bond.
Then water followed from his old bottle, tilted carefully so you could sip without spilling, his free hand supporting your head, murmuring encouragements until color returned to your cheeks.
Winter days started to blur into an each one another of shared survival and comfort. The two of you holed up in that makeshift haven as snow piled high outside. Joel hunted in the mean time, strengthened the shelter around you, and tended to you with a devotion that surprised even him...a man only hollowed by loss, now filling the void with your quiet, genlte presence.
He watched you closely, noting in his head the way overwhelm shadowed in your eyes when the wind howled too fiercely, how viulnerability clung to you. You were a delicate bloom in this hopeless wasteland, oh how easily you were crushed by the weight of existence. It steered something deep in Joel, a need to be your shelter; your steady hand.
One evening, as the sun set, you sat by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, and admitted something: "I can't do this by myself. Everything's just too big, too much. I need...I need someone to look after me." And "Like the cold out there, it grabbed me and wouldn't let go, and now even this warmth feels overwhelming, like I might melt away or something...I need...I need someone to look after me. Someone to tell me it's okay when my head spins and I can't breathe right. What if I freeze again? Or what if the noises outside get louder? I just...I don't know how to make it stop being so much."
The words hung between you that day, raw and revealing, and when you looked up at him, eyes wide with unspoken plea, you whispered, 'Dad.' The title landed like match on dry grass, but catching Joels attention more than ever.
He couldn't resist; pulling you into his lap, he cradled you close, his chin resting on your head, promising silently to be that for you—the father fate had denied him once over, your guardian against the dark.
But the nights deepened the bond into something more tangled, more forbidden.
One such evening, in the closeness of the small tent, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and the chill, you turned to him in the shared bedroll.
Bodies pressed together for warmth, your form molding to his like clay on the potter's wheel, and in that quiet intimacy, you kissed him—a small brush of lips that slowly but surely bloomed into hunger.
"Daddy," you breathed against his mouth, the word a velvet plea, followed by 'Dad' laced with sweet longing.
Joel's restraint fractured like thin ice; his hands roamed your curves with hunger, he hadn't felt for years—peeling away layers until skin met skin, his cock hardening against your thigh as desire overrode the lines of propriety.
He entered you slowly, inch by deliberate inch, his thick, girthy length stretching your warmth with a gentleness that calmed the storm within you.
"Shh, baby girl," he cooed, voice husky and commanding, hips rocking in a measured rhythm that built slowly over time. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, moans spilling as he fucked you deep and thorough, each thrust an erasure of the shadows haunting your mind: the infected, the losses, the loneliness and the cold.
His pace quickened, possessive and unrelenting, pounding into your sticky pussy until your cries echoed his name in variations of devotion, cum flooding you in hot pulses as ecstasy shattered every bad thought.
In that night, Joel learned your truths: you needed a steady hand to guide you, someone to call 'Dad' that anchored your soul, a cock to fuck you senseless until the world faded to irrelevance, leaving only the pulse of shared release.
Days turned into a haze, tents pitched in hidden groves where he'd take you against cold walls, caring for you with meals fed from his fingers and nights blurred by sweat-slicked skin and cum filled cunt.
And when you two finally returned into his small camp after endless miles of this intimate journey—your body marked by his touch, heart entwined with his—he envisioned a life where you did no labor, simply waited in his tent, legs spread in welcome, his to protect and possess.
"Stay with me, darlin'," he murmured, tracing patterns on your thigh. "Let me handle it all."
But rumours started to spread like wildfire
on dry bushes, untrue whispers that poisoned this fragile relationship that you have built.
Someone overheard your breathy 'Dad' in a moment of overwhelm, twisting it into a scandal.
Another caught the sounds of your shared tent, moans misconstrued as depravity. Whispers evolved: "She's got him wrapped around her finger, that stray he dragged in."
The words reached to you, burrowing like thorns, making you feel small, misunderstood—a weirdo in a world that already judged harshly.
So...the ache in your heart swelled until it bursted: you ended it, pulling away with tear-streaked face, declaring it over to spare him the shame.
Joel was absolutely heartbroken, the pain in his chest an ache that echoed with your absence, but he didn't let you go. He checked on you regularly—slipping rations to your tent, watching you from afar as you navigated the camp, ensuring your safety with a stubbornness that bordered on obsession.
Yet he couldn't bear it longer: your avoidance, the careful dance of distance, the sidelong glances from the group, their murmurs like knives, your belief that you are weird, tainted, when to him you were this salvation incarnate.
As his thoughts faded, Joel found himself adrift in the present, his orders trailing off as he stared at the map spread before him. The camp still buzzed around him, patrols forming, tasks underway, but his mind was a whirlwind of you—vulnerable, evasive, his girl who needed him more than she knew.
He couldn't take the separation anymore; tonight, he'll connect the gap, pull you back into the fold where you belonged, forbidden pull be damned, rumors silenced by the strength of his claim.
-
As the sun dipped low beneath the horizon, painting the camp in bruised purples and fading golds, Joel felt the weight of the day slowly settle into his bones.
He couldn't bear the silence any longer, the way you'd retreated into your shell after the supplies tent moment, your avoidance a blade twisting deeper and deeper with every passing hour.
His feet carried him unerringly through the mud slicked paths, past the murmurs of the group settling in for the night, until he stood before your tent—larger than the cramped quarters of the men, a sanctuary he'd insisted on crafting for you, and only you, alone.
He poured his callused hands into making it a haven, didn't he?
The frame reinforced with scavenged wood, the canvas walls doubled for insulation against the relentless chill. Inside, he built the bed himself—a sturdy frame of rough wood, topped with a mattress stuffed with whatever soft fibers he could forage, layered with blankets pilfered from forgotten homes.
Cushions and pillows, sewn from scraps of fabric, scattered for your comfort. A small table he made from a fallen log, wobbly but earnest. Shelves cobbled together for your few treasure—an old book, a carved wooden fawn he shaped in quiet moments—all of it born from his desire to wrap you in coziness, to shield your fragile spirit from the world's jagged edges.
Oh, how grateful you've been once, your eyes lighting with a warmth that melted the ice in his chest.
Now, as evening deepened, Joel hesitated at the flap, his broad fist hovering, a rare feeling of fear coiling in his gut.
What if you turned him away?
What if the chasm you'd carved between you had grown too wide to bridge?
He was Joel Miller, the unbreakable leader of this ragged band, yet here he was, scared like a little boy before confession.
Swallowing the knot in his throat, he knocked three times on the wooden part, soft enough not to startle, firm enough to announce his presence.
"Darlin'?" he called out, voice threaded with caution. "It's me. Joel."
The flap parted after a long moment, and there you stood, framed in the warm lantern light that spilled from within, your brows furrowed in a frown that tugged at his heartstrings.
Your eyes—those sweet, doe eyes that had first drawn him in—were rimmed red, lashes clumped with the remains of tears. The sight hit him like a gut punch; rage surged hot and immediate, a visceral urge to hunt down Leon and drive his fist into that sneering face until the man tasted the blood of his own regret.
How dare anyone reduce you to this—his girl, curled in on herself, wounded by words sharper than any blade in this merciless world?
"Can I come in?" Joel asked, his tone gentle, eyes searching yours with a plea he couldn't voice.
You nodded, a small, reluctant dip of your chin, stepping aside to let him pass.
The tent was a cocoon of warmth, cozy and sweet, mirroring the tender heart you hid away from everyone. The lantern light bathed the space in a golden haze, softening the edges of the handmade furniture, the pillows plump and inviting on the bed where you so often curled like a fawn seeking shelter.
Joel knew your habits intimately—how you drew your knees to your chest, burrowing into the nest of blankets, your form small and vulnerable, evoking those pet names he'd whispered in quieter times: Little Fawn, Bambi, fragments that captured your innocence amid the brutality.
"You didn't need to defend me there," you said. "I could've just done it myself."
Even as the words left your lips, you knew they were hollow; Leons yelling had left you stammering, small and exposed.
He turned to you, his dark eyes steady, holding yours with an intensity that peeled away your defenses layer by layer.
"I know," he replied. "But ain't gonna leave you alone like that. Not ever."
You scoffed, the whispers of the camp echoing in your mind again, their side glances branding you as the weird one, the stray with the leader wrapped around her finger.
Crossing your arms, you sank onto the bed, curling your frame, knees tucked close, gaze fixated on a spot in the corner. Tears started to well anew, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room as vulnerability crashed over you like a relentless wave.
"Oh, little fawn..." Joel murmured, the petname that was meant to soothe the hurt he saw etched in every line of your body.
"Don't," you whispered, voice cracking, turning your face away as the first tears traced down your cheeks. "Don't call me that."
The plea was raw, laced with the ache of the loss for the intimacy those words once evoked, now tainted by the misunderstanding, by the fear that you were too weird, too needy in a world that devoured the weak.
Undeterred, Joel lowered himself besides you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, while his presence was a grounding force amid your unraveling. You curled up tighter, a defensive coil, but he didn't press...instead, he sat close enough that the heat of him radiated through the space between, a silent promise of shelter.
"You remember the first time you called me Dad?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur.
You flinched at the word, an involuntary shiver rippling through you, the title stirring a hollow ache in your chest—an echo of warmth now soured by shame.
"I didn't think much of it," Joel continued softly, his hand rising with slowness to stroke your hair, fingers threading through the strands. Each pass was measured, calming, tracing the curve of your scalp as if it was to unravel the knots of your turmoil. "But I knew that your little heart calmed down after you called me that. Like the world's weight lifted, just a tiny bit."
His touch was poetry in motion, rough palms gentle by intent, evoking memories of winter nights when his care had been your lifeline.
You sniffled, the sound small, peeking at him through your wet eyelashes. His eyes held no judgment, only a deep, unwavering understanding—of how you needed to be taken care of, how the chaos overwhelmed you until you felt little, drifting into a headspace where distractions pulled you like a dream.
He saw that now in your hazy gaze, the faraway drift, your mind retreating to that vulnerable place where the world's edges softened into safety.
"I didn't find it weird," he pressed on, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "God—that's the least forsaken thing in this damned world I would find weird. In a place where the dead's walk and trust is a luxury we can't afford anymore, y'callin' me Dad? That's just...you needin' what we all crave deep down. Someone that holsd the pieces together."
"Are you sure?" you whispered, the question fragile as breath itself, seeking absolution in his gaze, your tears slowing to a quiet trickle as his words pierced the fog of self doubt.
"Course, baby," Joel nodded, his affirmation steady. "Nothing weird about wanting to be taken care of. Hell, we've all got our fractures; yours just call for a steady hand, that's all."
He paused, his hand stilling in your hair, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek.
"You think I wouldn't have cared for you if I didn't? I wouldn't have built this bed, poured sweat into these cushions and shelves, made you all these things, hm? Every nail, every stitch—it was for you, darlin'. To give you a corner of peace in this madness."
You shrugged, a small, uncertain lift of your shoulders, the gesture speaking volumes of the doubt that lingered and lingered, but Joel leaned in then, closing the distance with a tenderness. His lips pressed to your forehead, warm, a kiss like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, sealing his words with an unspoken promise.
"My little fawn," he breathed against your skin, the endearment a balm, wrapping around your heart.
Something in you yielded at last, the walls crumbling under the weight of his care. You snuggled into him, your body unfolding from its curl to press against his chest, burying your head into the crook of his neck where the scent of him enveloped you like a homecoming. A soft sigh escaped you, tears soaking into his flannel as the tension disappeared, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat.
"That's right," Joel cooed, his arms encircling you fully now, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles along your back. "Come to Dad. I've got you, little one. Always will."
His voice was like a lullaby in the dark, where the world's cruelties faded to whispers, leaving only the profound poetry of two souls intertwining once more.
You nestled even deeper into him, the tears slowly drying, but a deeper ache stirred within, a pull towards that hazy headspace that tugged you into the depths where only his touch could anchor you.
With a soft, instinctive motion, you reached for one of his hands—those rough, capable hands of his that built your world—and guided it towards your lips, your mouth parting to draw his thumb inside, sucking gently at first, the salt of his skin a familiar comfort blooming on your tongue.
Joel's breath hitched at that, followed by a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he watched you, his dark eyes softening with a mix of adoration and understanding.
Without hesitation, he shifted his hand, cupping your cheek with his palm, angling his thumb deeper into the wet warmth of your mouth so you could nurse on it more fully, the pad pressing against the soft roof as your lips sealed around it. He leaned down, his lips brushing the crown of your head in a feather-light kiss.
"There you go, baby," he murmured, his southern drawl a soothing balm, thick and warm like honey drizzled over wounds. "Suck a little deeper if it feels right...yeah, just like that."
His words were a gentle coo, laced with that paternal sweetness that made your heart flutter and your core clench in equal measure, his free arm tightening around your waist to rock you slowly from side to side, a rhythmic sway that mimicked the lullabies of forgotten cradles.
You whimpered around his thumb, the sound muffled and needy, your tongue swirling lazily and lazily as the subspace slowly deepened, pulling you further into that floaty haze where thoughts dissolved like mist under sun. The rocking motion lulled you, his body a cozy cocoon of flannel and muscle, but the whimpers grew insistent, threading with a whine that Joel knew all too well: you were craving the grounding force only he could provide.
His cock stirred in his jeans, thickening against your thigh, but he focused on you, sensing the urgency in your escalating sounds, the way your hips shifted restlessly.
He knew this dance like the back of his hand; your subspace made you far gone, adrift in a sea of need, and only the deep, claiming thrust of his cock—followed by the shattering release of orgasms—could reel you back, tethering you to the present with waves of pleasure that washed away the darkness.
"Oh, sweet thing," Joel whispered, his voice a velvet rumble as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing the soft curve of your belly before finding the swell of your breasts.
He cupped one gently, thumb and forefinger rolling over your nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak with slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks down your spine. The touch was feather light at first, then firmer, pinching just enough to draw a gasp from you, your mouth releasing his thumb with a wet pop, a glistening string of saliva connecting your lips to his skin like a fragile bridge of intimacy.
"Shh, babygirl, Daddy's just gonna touch you here...nice and easy." He murmured at your whines.
You whimpered louder at that, the sound raw and pleading, your hazy eyes locking onto his.
"Take care of me, Daddy. Please," you breathed out, your voice small and fractured, laced with the desperate ache of your subspace.
Joel's heart swelled at the plea, his little fawn so needy, so beautifully lost in that vulnerable space he cherished and protected.
He wouldn't dream of denying you—never.
This was his purpose, to soothe and claim, to fill every hollow part of you with his devotion.
"Oh, I know, honey," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his beard scraping softly against your skin as he eased you back onto the bed, the pillows cradling your head like a nest woven for you alone.
The mattress dipped under your weight, the blankets rumpling invitingly as he positioned you, his body hovering protectively above you.
With tender care, he tucked his finger back into your mouth—this time his index finger, sliding it past your lips so you could suckle greedily, your tongue laving the length as if it were sustenance for your soul.
"There, suck on that for Dad, yea? Keeps you nice and calm while I take care of the rest."
His other hand trailed downwards, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to find the slick heat of your cunt. You were already so soaked, your folds swollen and parting eagerly under his touch, the sticky evidence of your need coating his fingers as he traced your slit.
"God, look at you, Bambi...all wet and achin' for me," he cooed, his voice dripping with praise. "This for daddy, huh, honey? Dripping, achy pussy."
He pressed two fingers inside you without warning, stuffing your pussy full in one smooth glide, the stretch burning sweetly as your walls clenched around the intrusion, spasming with desperate hunger. You whined against his finger in your mouth, the vibration humming through him, your hips bucking instinctively to take him deeper.
"Biiig stretch, baby, yea?" his tone coaxing and babying, like an old man spinning tales to his most cherished kin.
"Big stretch..." you repeated messily around his finger.
Satisfied with your answer, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot with expert precision, his thumb circling your clit in lazy loops that made your thighs tremble.
The wet sounds of his movements filled the tent: slick, obscene squelches that mingled with your muffled whimpers whike the air started growing thick with the musky scent of your arousal, sticky and intimate.
"Y'gonna rub your nipples for me? Pinch 'em, for Dad? Show me how good you can be while I finger this pretty little cunt, c'mon." His words were filthy yet laced with such profound sweetness.
Obediently, lost in the haze, you released his finger just enough to slide your hands under your shirt, fingers finding your nipples and pinching them hard, rolling the peaks between your thumbs and forefingers until they throbbed in time with the thrusts of his hand.
The dual sensation overwhelmed you—mouth full, pussy stuffed, breasts aching under your own touch—your mind traveling further into that blissful subspace.
Joel watched, absolutely mesmerised, his eyes full of love.
"That's it, Bambi." He murmurs. "Pinch a little more if it helps, yeah? make 'em ache like your cunny does for me."
The pace build as your juices start to leak down his knuckles, coating his palm in your sticky essence.
Overstimulated and lost in the velvet haze of your headspace, Joel's relentless fingers curled inside your gushing pussy one more time; stroking that swollen spot until pressure build like a storm in your core, your cries of "Dad, too much—m'gonna...oh..." fracturing into a needy sob as a sudden, tiny squirt escaped, warm fluid arcing in a delicate spray across his wrist and your quivering belly forming a filthy little puddle.
"Easy now, darlin', let it all out for Dad—juuuust like that, baby." he cooed.
Your mouth stilled around his finger, lips parting in a silent cry as your cunt pulsed wildly around his digits, gushing more slick that soaked the bed beneath you. Your hands fell from your nipples, trembling, as waves of ecstasy rippled through you, pulling a choked sob from your throat.
Joel slowed his movements then, drawing out the aftershocks with gentle strokes, his gaze drinking in the sight of you splayed out before him—cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening, eyes glazed in that beautiful, vulnerable haze.
Beautiful. Sweet. His little fawn, trembling and spent yet still yearning.
"Please," you whined, voice breathy and broken, rocking your hips against the hard bulge straining his jeans, the friction drawing a deep groan from his chest. "Your cock, Dad. Need it inside me."
"S'alright, honey," Joel soothed, his voice a tender rumble as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then from your pussy, leaving you clenching around emptiness.
He shifted, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock— thick and veined, the head already beaded with pre-cum, curving upward in rigid need.
"Daddy's gonna give you what you need. Spread those pretty legs for me, darlin'."
You complied, thighs parting wide, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air, the sticky mess of your release gleaming in the lantern light.
He knelt between them, gripping his shaft and nudging the blunt tip against your entrance, teasing with shallow dips—in just the head, then out, coating himself in your slick—each withdrawal pulling a breathless whine from you.
"Dad... please," you begged, hips going up, chasing the fullness.
He played a moment longer, savoring your desperation, the way your pussy fluttered against him, before sinking in fully with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing unchecked through the tent flaps, uncaring of the camp beyond—let them hear; you were his, and this was your healing.
Joel groaned low, his forehead pressing to yours, breath sharp as he bottomed out, your walls stretching around his girth, the icky squelch of your combined wetness filling the space.
"Fuck, baby girl...so tight."
He built a comfortable rhythm just for you then—slow, deep rolls of his hips that ground against your clit with every thrust, designed to unravel your thoughts, to flood your mind with nothing but sensation.
"Thaaat's it, honey, feel me stretchin' this sweet pussy," he whispered praises against your ear, "Dad's got you, gonna fuck all those bad thoughts away."
You whined 'Dad' and 'Daddy' endlessly, lips swollen from biting them, eyes rolling back as the pleasure built, your pussy gushing around him in sticky waves, the lewd slap of skin on skin growing wetter, messier with every drive.
"Did you miss me? Hm, baby?" He asked, softly pinching your chin between his fingers. "You're my everything, you know that? Gonna coax another cum outta this pretty hole, make you forget every damn whisper out there."
He babied you through it all, one hand stroking your hair, the other pinning your hip gently, his thrusts never faltering—filthy in their depth, yet so profoundly sweet in intent.
"Daddy...Dad, it's too much." You bucked your hips against him.
"Shh, I know, I know. My sweet little girl." he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple, breathing in your scent.
The pressure coiled tight, and when you shattered again, your cunt clamping down in rhythmic pulses, milking him relentlessly, Joel followed with a guttural groan, burying deep as he came inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in a creamy creampie that overflowed, leaking out around his base in thick, icky trails.
"Yea, there we fuckin' go," he panted, still rocking shallowly to prolong the bliss, his voice husky with satisfaction. "All the thoughts fucked away now, huh? Look at you."
You nodded weakly, mind blissfully blank, body limp in the afterglow.
Joel eased his cock out with care, watching as his cum leaked from your well fucked pussy, pearly white mixing with your slick in a messy puddle on the sheets.
The sight stirred him anew, and before you could protest the sensitivity, he plunged two fingers back inside, stirring the creaminess, drawing a sharp whine from your oversensitive walls.
"Shh, hey. Easy now, easy. Just one more, honey," he hushed softly, his tone pure indulgence as he brought the other cum smeared fingers to your mouth. "Suck on 'em for Daddy, c'mon—taste how good we are together, focus on dad."
You latched on in instinctively, tongue swirling around the salty sweet tang of his release mixed with yours, the act so intimately, so cozy in its rawness. His fingers in your pussy worked gently, curling to hit that spot again, thumb rubbing your clit building you towards one final peak until you came with a muffled cry, your body shuddering as fresh slick coated his hand.
Satisfied at that, Joel withdrew his fingers, trailing sweet kisses across your body—forehead, cheeks, the curve of your neck, down to your breasts where he lingered, suckling on your nipple briefly before murmuring against your skin.
"You're my everything, darlin'. My whole world in this godforsaken place."
He then gathered you close, pulling the blankets over you both, his arms wrapping securely as he rocked you side to side once more, the motion lulling you into peace.
"I'm gonna take care of you, no matter what they say out there." He whispered. "Sleep now, little fawn. Dad's right here."
And as your eyes drifted shut, the tent a cocoon of sticky warmth and whispered devotion, you slipped into slumber, anchored fully in his love again.
Finally.
I don’t know if I like this or not… I tried a new writing style, making it a tad bit ‘poetic,’ but I think I failed at a few moments. A lot of paragraphs are translated from German because I didn’t know how else to write them, and I’m sorry if some of it feels a bit weird.
Anyways, I hope it met some expectations, and I’m really excited to see what y’all say. <3
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